


Road Tripping

by St_Salieri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/St_Salieri/pseuds/St_Salieri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam + Dean + classical music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Road Tripping

**Author's Note:**

> For snickfic :)

The plains of Iowa stretched in front of them like a dirty blanket, wet and rumpled under the heavy clouds that had been hanging overhead for the last few days. The rain spattering on the roof of the car was hypnotic - almost soothing - and Dean found himself drinking twice his already substantial amount of coffee just to keep awake behind the wheel.

Sam had tucked himself against the passenger door an hour ago and buried his head in a paperback, which was a goddamn relief as far as Dean was concerned if it meant he didn't have to see Sam giving him those pitying _you're broken and I want to fix you_ looks out of the corner of his eye. They made Dean want to stab something in the face. After he'd snapped at Sam a couple of days ago, his brother had just shifted into wounded animal mode, which if anything was even less tolerable.

The whooshing hum of the tires on the wet pavement seemed to soothe the awkward silence between them, and eventually Sam looked up and stretched, tossing his book into the back seat.

"We still in Iowa?"

"Still," Dean grunted. "You need to stop?" he asked after a pause, watching as Sam tried to fold his long legs into a slightly more comfortable position under the dash.

"Nah, I'm good." 

Sam reached forward to fiddle with the knob of the radio, flipping through static and talk shows before settling on a station playing scratchy classical music. His fingers twitched as if to move on, but he paused and instead turned the volume up. Dean gave him an appalled look.

"Dude. Seriously?"

Sam looked at him, a grin crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Five bucks," he said, and suddenly Dean was twelve years old and crammed in the back seat of the car with Sam while their father drove through the back roads of America.

Sometimes the only stations that would come in were the local classical stations, and Dad would tune in to them late at night when he wanted the boys to fall asleep. Sam and Dean had come up with a game, betting each other Twizzlers that they'd be the first to identify which Bugs Bunny cartoon the music was played in. They'd giggle together in the back, arguing until Dad yelled at them to settle down already. One day Sammy came home from school with a children's book on the history of classical music, and he took great pleasure in spouting out names like Rossini and Wagner until Dean punched him in the arm and stole his candy.

The book was lost on a drive somewhere between Seattle and Portland, and by then they were too old for cartoons anyway.

Dean cleared his throat, blinking away the memories. Sam was still giving him a sly look, and Dean shook his head at him.

"Come on, man. What are you, ten?"

Sam wilted slightly, but he just clenched his jaw and gave Dean a challenging look. Despite himself, Dean found himself listening to the music. It was something big and bombastic and opera-y, with lots of horns.

"Whatever," Sam said casually, that glint still in his eye. "You just know you can't beat me."

Dean turned and gave Sam a look, opening his mouth to turn him down, but stopped dead at the look in Sam's eyes. _I'm sorry,_ it said. _Please be okay._ Sam looked down quickly, as if ashamed to be caught out by his brother.

" _Rabbit of Seville_ ," Sam finally said after a long moment, staring out at the wipers scraping across the front windshield.

And Dean was tired, so goddamn tired of the empty miles and the wounded, brittle silence between them. Sam had been trying so freaking hard to make things normal between them, every clumsy effort falling flat, and at that moment Dean wanted nothing more than to be the young boy wrestling with his brother for candy in the back seat.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he said softly, letting the words hang in the air for a long second. "Because you're clearly mistaken. It's _What's Opera, Doc?_ "

He gave Sam a smug look, warming at the quick, blinding grin he got in return.

"You sure, man?" Sam asked easily, and he was so goddamn transparent that Dean wanted to roll his eyes.

"Yeah, dude, and you know it," he said fondly. "Pay up."

"I'll have to owe you," Sam said, then turned the radio up even louder. "Kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit," he hummed under his breath, ducking away from Dean's punch to the arm.

Dean let out a bark of laughter and Sam joined in, and the sky lightened beneath the rain-heavy clouds as they drove through the Iowa afternoon.


End file.
